Nailed IT!

KERRE’S KICKED A NOT-SO-HANDY HABIT AND SHE COULDN’T BE HAPPIER

Ihave never written about my guilty secret before. I barely speak of it because I’m so ashamed. My family and close friends know, but work colleagues and acquaintances are probably in the dark… the thing is,

I’m a nail biter.

I bite them down to the quick. I’ve done it since childhood. It used to drive my dad mad and now, perversely, it’s one of the things I most loathe seeing other people do. On one hellish flight from Perth to Auckland I sat next to a man who alternated between biting his nails until they bled (I’ve never done that) and picking his nose. My stomach turns thinking about it today. I suppose it was an entirely appropriate punishment for the years I have revolted other people with my gross habit.

I have tried everything to stop – hypnosis, cognitive behavioural therapy, the nasty stuff you paint on (what’s left of) your nails. But nothing works. Or rather nothing has worked – until now.

Although I still have to get my nails dipped in powder, because they are so weak and brittle from years of abuse, the powder is now going on to my real nails. When the polish comes off, I could pass for a normal person. It’s so exciting! Forget climbing Mount Kilimanjaro or running six marathons or writing three books or having a baby – this is a real achievement. For years I’ve looked at women with beautiful hands and envied them, and I often compliment perfect strangers on their gorgeous nails.

My breakthrough came about when I changed manicurists. I used to pop into the one up the road once every couple of weeks. They would put tips on my poor ravaged nails, paint them up and out I’d go. While my nails would grow underneath, if the tips fell off or I picked them away, I’d be able to gnaw at my fingernails and the poor girls would have to patch me up as best they could. Then my daughter, who was home from London, found a place a little further away and highly recommended it to me.

I always try to follow Kate’s advice, especially when it comes to matters of style and grooming, so I went along. And it was there that I met Camila. She has exacting standards, runs a tight ship, works long hours and is herself immaculately turned out.

The first couple of times I visited, she did my nails without comment, but when I went in some months ago, she grabbed my hands and held them up to me. “Don’t do this to your nails!” she said, her gorgeous face creasing into a frown. “It’s very bad for them and it makes it hard for me to do my work. If you have real nails, it looks so much better. You need to try to grow them, so I can do the best job for you.”

It was quite the telling off but she was only trying to help. She told me to come in the moment a fake nail fell off and she would repair it on the spot to give my nails a chance to grow. So I did, and in just a few months, my nails have grown back. In fact, Camila had to cut them before she filed them last week!

She was very pleased for me and I was rewarded with one of her rare and dazzling smiles. I am so proud and so grateful to her. She has done what nobody has been able to do in 54 years − get me to grow my nails.

My next goal is to have an ordinary polish on my perfect nails – just to prove I can do it. And my goal after that is to get to work on kicking more of my bad habits.

Who knows... by the time I’m 60, I could well be perfect!